by Lesley McLarenTrips to the UK are rare for me and a recent visit to the Isle of Wight delivered a surprising punch of nostalgia for lush English countryside. (And a less surprising need for polo-necked jumpers.) I was very excited when family I was staying with reported having seen a lesser spotted woodpecker on their garden fence a few days earlier. Confident of their I.D. skills, and bearing in mind my last blog about woodpeckers, I kept a close eye on that fence. But my recent spell of luck had finally run out. Instead, though, I was treated to lots of skylark song, and buzzards seemed to be around every corner.On my return a week later, to a steamy 28°C, palm trees, cork oaks and deep blue skies, I was reminded how exotic Roussillon is in comparison. Both are beautiful in different ways. But quite a lot had changed in my short absence.Only the second week of June and the grass verges were parched and brown. Even the clover on what passes for our lawn had crisped up. All but one or two nightingales - previously so loud on walks - had stopped singing. So had many other birds. Territories secured, mates seduced, the serious business of rearing young was underway.That first morning back I walked alongside a field close to our house that has masses of broom bushes. Last time I was there all I could hear were grasshoppers. Now, in the sizzling sunshine, all I could hear was the sound rice krispies make after the milk's poured on. The broom flowers having long gone over, their pea pod-shaped seed heads were bursting all around me. In England it was still late spring; here, it was like the height of summer.I was also quickly reminded that there are plenty of new and intriguing things to discover about the natural world without setting foot outside our own garden. On my second evening back home I sat on the patio, enjoying a cool glass of wine with my husband, idly watching a Carpenter Bee bumbling from flower to flower on a bush a few feet away. These heavyweights of the bee world are wonderful: totally black, with a purple-blue tinge to their wings that's earned them the forgettable Latin name Xylocopa violacea. They can look and sound intimidating – especially if they fly straight at you or if, as once happened to my husband, they barge out of a pair of swimming trunks that you're taking off the washing line – but in fact they aren’t at all aggressive and won’t sting.

Fascinating though my husband's conversation was, I found myself increasingly distracted by this particular chap. The flowers that interested it were, as you can see, longish, narrow and trumpet-shaped. But what was the bee doing?

Was it really stabbing the flower with its proboscis? Sure enough, nearly all of them had a hole at the stem end.

I came to the conclusion that the flower mouth is too tightly shut and the trumpet section too long for most insects to access nectar the normal way. Doesn't this mean, therefore, thatthe plant has given itself problems in terms of pollination (although I did subsequently see something much smaller – possibly a beetle – crawl in through the flower mouth)?

Isobel tells me she has read that many plants, "bred" especially for attractive display in gardens, are particularly difficult for bees to access. Seems I have unwittingly chosen one such plant.

If that's the case, it's good to see the carpenters have found a novel solution to their problem. Andthey're not the only ones.

A humble bumblebee cashes in

But do bumblebees also pierce flowers or merely make use of holes left by the bigger, stronger carpenters? I’ve no way of telling who started the process.

What I'd really love to know is if this behaviour is perfectly normal or a recent adaptation in response to new plant breeds. If anyone reading this can tell me, please get in touch!

A couple of days ago another impressive, exotic-looking insect stopped off in our garden, but sadly ended up fighting for its life in our pool. I scooped it out and put it in a bush, at first thinking it was another type of bee - mostly black, with a splendidly hairy bottom - but those warning spots of yellow did make me wonder...

It is, of course, a type of wasp. One of the Ruby-Tails according to my book. Unfortunately it doesn’t have a common name of its own, only the equally hard to remember LatinScolia flavifrons. I think this one was a male. Females are bigger - up to 40mm! - and have brown heads. Happily, like carpenter bees, they are quite harmless to man.

The poor thing did look very sad as it crawled into the shade of some leaves to dry off. When I checked later it had gone, hopefully none the worse for its ordeal. Only a wasp and no rarity for these parts, but I would still have felt bad if it had died because of us and our pool.

by Robin Noble(photography by Martine Howard)I am writing this on an extraordinary afternoon, with the thunder rolling endlessly around Vallespir. We have had several humid days, and they have been warm, too, warmer than at the same time last year, fairly hot, most people seem to agree, for around Midsummer. It will be interesting to see how July and August work out! We recently made one visit back to the Etang: the flamingos were certainly still present in numbers, which must prove that they do breed there. Sadly, they were, as so often, on the far side and really out of range of my binoculars, so I have no idea whether they had young. Two black swans were still there, without cygnets, and we also saw a few of the wonderful great-crested grebes, a grey heron, and a few egrets. Most remarkable to us was a huge flock of coots, more than I had ever seen together anywhere, in the middle distance. Again, there was no chance to tell if they had young among their numbers. It all goes to reinforce our view that this Etang (and the many others in the Roussillon) form a very important part of the natural landscape which surrounds us. And on the way into the hide, I had a quick, but perfect view of the red-eyed Sardinian Warbler, of which I knew nothing at all before I saw Isobel’s lovely photo. When we have felt it too hot and humid on land, we have taken to the sea, which has been delightful. Our wee boat ("Puffin"!), lives in our garage, and it takes little more than half an hour to tow her to the slipway at the Argelès basin. From there, chugging along at a pleasant, and ecologically friendly, speed, we reckon to reach Collioure in little over six minutes, Port Vendres in about another six, and to round the craggy rocks of Cap Béar in about 20 all told. This stretch of the coast is really best seen from the water, and although I still fail to see from where the description: "Cote Vermeille" really derives, it is a handsome piece of coastline, with splendidly contorted crags of metamorphic rock. Recently, we ventured as far as the Marine Nature Reserve south of Banyuls. You are not meant to anchor casually in this clearly-demarcated stretch of water, but there is, at this time of year at least, adequate provision in the form of substantial buoys to which you can attach your boat. We were fortunate to arrive at a relatively quiet time, and managed to take possession of a buoy which was quite close in to the rocks, beneath a magnificent, jagged, overhanging cliff. When we arrived, the sea was quiet and inviting, not quite the ultimate "glassy calm", but silken-smooth. I love being in the water, but want to stay firmly on the surface, whereas Martine, on the other hand, must actually really be part fish, and loves being under it, for as long as possible. So I swam around for a while, rejoicing in the clean coolness of the water, then returned to the boat, and watched the sea idly as I dried off in the sun. Looking over the side, the first thing to strike me here is always the clarity of the water, in itself a real achievement when you consider that there is a significant human population on this stretch of coast. A few fish were obviously enjoying the shade cast by the boat: they were a medium grey, tinged with a slight yellow when in the sunlight, with a pronounced black and white patch back by the tail. Their young, paler but with the black and white equally pronounced, had been swimming inquisitively around my legs a few days before, when I stood in a lovely small bay just around Cap Béar. Reference to a colour chart we had recently bought made us decide that these are probably the Saddled Seabream (oblada melanura). Martine, meanwhile, had been snorkelling around the rocks, and had been having a wonderful time. She had been trying out a small underwater camera, and playing games of hide-and-seek with (other!) fish around the rocks and in the weedy gullies, trying to take pictures of them. She said it was quite difficult, as she was trying to look through her mask, through a tiny viewfinder, at little fish that were scooting about! Only later, on the computer, could we really assess the results, and a few of them follow this blog, along with attempted identification where we are sure of it. All told, that day we had a wonderful time at sea, but more importantly it is clear that there is, out there, an underwater landscape of some richness, and - most important of all - it is being well looked after.

This time of year is when dragonflies start to appear in decent numbers. While some put in an appearance during sunny days in winter, mostly they start to emerge in the late spring and carry on until the autumn.Dragonflies (with a capital D) is the English word for the order of Odonata, which include dragonflies (no capital letter) and damselflies. This blog looks at a few species of similar looking dragonfly. The life cycle, depending on species, can vary from a few weeks up to a few years. All of them spend most of their lives under water and only the final stage as flying insects. Generally the eggs are laid in or under water; the eggs hatch and turn into larvae which undergo a number of stages while feeding on aquatic insects, small fish and other dragonfly larvae. They finally emerge to shed their larval skins; after a few minutes to a few hours their wings expand, bodies harden and they take flight. They will live for a few weeks to a few months, during which time their objectives are to feed, mate, and start the new generation. It is when they fly, with their wonderful colours, that they are at their most visible and attractive. Identifying different species can be challenging. They are not always accommodating and often fly off before one can get a decent photograph. Some species differ from their near relatives in tiny details, which makes separating them quite difficult - one has to take photographs of specific parts of their anatomy. As a dragonfly ages, its colours can change, sometimes significantly. Females of different species often look very similar - males are the 'peacocks' and usually easier to identify.Here are some examples of the difficulty in sorting out some of the females. The descriptions are not necessarily diagnostic but are indicative, and relate what can be seen in the photos.

This dragonfly is a common sight nearby, the Common Darter (Sympetrum striolatum).

Common Darter

The abdomen is fairly straight (no clubbed tail), the base of the wings has a small area of yellow tint, and the legs have yellow streaks. The eyes often have a greenish tinge underneath. This one is an immature female.

The﻿Red-veined Darter﻿ is so called because the male has red veins in its wings.

Red-veined Darter

The female's wing veins are yellow (not red), there is a yellow patch at the wing base and the underside of the eyes is blue-grey.

The Southern Darter (Sympetrum meridionale) is very like the Common Darter.

Southern Darter

It has smaller, paler tinges of yellow at the wing base and all-yellow legs.

Still yellow bodied, but with more black markings is the Black-tailed Skimmer (Orthetrum cancellatum). This is one of three members of the Orthetrum family found in our area and only one other is found anywhere else in France. (Only two - Black-tailed and Keeled - are found in the UK, and their presence is patchy.)

Black-tailed Skimmer

It has clear wings with black pterostigmas (the black "dots" near the wing tips). The black markings are fairly robust and stand out against the yellow background of the body.

The next Orthetrum, and another look-alike, is the Southern Skimmer (Orthetrum brunneum).

Southern Skimmer

This a fairly plain dragonfly, identified by the reddish-brown pterostigma and the arrangement of the double row of cells below a prominent single vein in the front wing, as can be seen in the photo below.

Southern Skimmer front wing

The third Orthetrum in our area is the Keeled Skimmer (Orthetrum coerulescens)

Keeled Skimmer

What identify this species are the unusually long pterostigma and the two pale marks along the thorax (the body behind the eyes).

Many dragonflies have brilliantly coloured males partnered by fairly inconspicuous females. An outstanding example is the Violet Dropwing (Trithemis annulata).

Violet Dropwing

The reason for the second part of the name is obvious from the posture; the "violet" is due to the bright colouring of the male. Other distinctive marks are an amber patch at the wing base and a prominent black bar on the top of the final segments of the tail.

The final dragonfly in this blog is the Broad Scarlet (Crocothemis erythraea).

Broad Scarlet

Once again the name comes from the male which is bright scarlet. This has a plumper body than most of the others. The underneath of the eyes is blue-grey, there is a white stripe on top of the thorax and an amber patch on the wing base.

One of the things I enjoy most about dragonfly watching is distinguishing between species. Often one needs a good close view, whereas at other times the differences are fairly obvious. Fascinating as these look-alikes are, even more surprising is the huge difference between males and females of certain species. But that will be the subject of another blog.

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